Selfish
by Bitter Baristas
Summary: This Rick was unlike any other. He was endlessly kind and patient, and at the end of their first day together Morty vowed he would protect this Rick from the universes taint and rot. But in the end he wouldn't be able to protect him from himself. Doofus Rick & Evil Morty.


**Warnings: Implied/referenced insest, abuse, under-aged sex and character death.**

Rick shuffled his feet self-consciously, hand rubbing the back of his neck while he avoided the glares other Rick's were sending him. The reassignment station was situated in one of the busiest sections of the Citadel, glass walls creating a fish bowl. The metal bench upon which he sat felt like a spotlit stage, and he had forgotten all his lines.

All Rick's stuttered, their speech broken by belches, but he was particularly impaired. His protruding, gap teeth and bowl cut was not all that set him apart. Ignorance was supposed to be bliss, but he must have been smart enough to be aware of his own stupidity. He knew full well he was the least respected Rick in the multiverse, at least among other Rick's. C-137's Jerry was rather fond of him, which was flattering, but it didn't detract from the hate he received on a regular basis from him-selves.

A lifetime ago, when he'd been a young man, the only self-hate he felt was from himself. He hadn't been happy, he had yet to meet a Rick that was, but he'd been content. Then one day, a swirling green mass yawned open in his garage and an otherworldly twin stepped out. They stared at each other, mirroring expressions of shock and confusion.

"Fuck, you're a dweeb." The wild haired clone said, voice carrying a sharpness his never had.

Rick had been utterly bewildered, and did what he always did when someone brought hate to his home.

"I made cookies." He said, motioning to the kitchen. The Rick scowled, and was he wearing eyeliner?

"What kind?"

"Snickerdoodles."

While the Rick begrudgingly shoved cookies in his mouth he rummaged through the cabinets.

"Where-" he burped, spraying crumbs. "-The hell do you keep your booze?"

"Oh! Uh, I-I d-don't... have any. Juice?" He offered a juice box lamely, and the Rick snatched it from him. He rattled his nearly empty flask and took a swig, chasing it with the juice. He explained about the multiverse and Citadel between bites of cookie.

"How far are you on your portal gun?"

Rick's ears pinkened. "I-I-I haven't…" He faltered under the Rick's unimpressed gaze.

"You haven't s-started?"

Rick shook his head. The other, harsher version of himself scoffed and handed him a pamphlet. Instructions. "That will self destruct in 24 hours, I'd g-get crackin' if you want to join the Citadel."

He shot a portal onto the floor and jumped through, leaving Rick holding the pamphlet and wondering what kind of world had spawned such a rude person. He turned the card stock paper over in his hands and went to his laboratory that in a normal home would be a living room. Surely in infinite Rick's, not every one was as crass as the one that had visited him.

He'd been correct, but not in the way he hoped. It seemed he was the outlier, and the devil-may-care rocker that insulted him was the garden variety Rick. But the Citadel was essentially a gigantic, unending family.

He'd gotten sick once, intergalactic flu, and had been bedridden for a month. When he finally made it to the Citadel, no one had missed his absence. The thing that kept him coming back was the Morties. Never having had his own children, he lacked a family. No wife, no Beth, no Jerry, and no Morty. His house lacked the warmth of memories. No growth marks marred his doorways, no childish artworks covered the walls. At the Citadel there was always a Morty willing to talk to him. Morties who were already bound to another Rick, and told him honestly they preferred his company. But leaving their original Rick was something they couldn't bare to do, and so he was paired with Rickless Morties.

He was here for his latest partner, trying and failing to ignore the scornful looks the other Rick's weren't bothering to hide. His palms slicked with sweat and he felt tears building behind his eyes. He blinked them back, determined to keep his tears at bay until he was in the safety of his home.

"J19ζ7?"

Rick leapt unsteadily to his feet, blush heating his cheeks as he laughed awkwardly at himself. The Morty that had addressed him held a clipboard to his chest and smiled kindly. "Come with me please, Mr. Sanchez." The Morty beckoned him and they passed the swinging counter that separated the office from rows of cryogenically preserved Morties. "I'd say it's nice to see you again, J-19, but under the circumstances that wouldn't be true." Morty said smoothly, patting the man's arm sympathetically. "This will be your seventeenth Morty, correct?"

Rick nodded, avoiding the Morties brown eyes. He'd watched the life leave those eyes too many times. The Morties that hadn't perished under his watch had filed for reassignment or simply gone AWOL to roam with the herds of Rickless Morties that infested the Citadel.

"Well, maybe this will be the one." Morty said comfortingly. Rick's mouth was caught between twisting up into a smile and down into a grimace. He wished this could be his Morty. The boy's movements were graceful and easy, his voice even and flowing. He smiled at Rick like he wasn't damaged goods.

Morty led him to a room and stopped a few paces from the closed door. "This Morty has been through his fair share of Rick's, too. Maybe you two were meant to be. His original Rick died years ago, and he's bounced around the Citadel ever since." The Morty hesitated, and Rick managed to hold his gaze for a moment. "I think you're just what he needs."

Morty held the door open for Rick, and he fiddled with his hands as he stepped into the room. The Morty-his Morty-was staring at the wall, a blank expression washing his face of emotion. He inclined his head to look at them, and Rick's blood ran cold when they locked eyes.

Brown orbs, speckled green and gold when the light hit them right, were lackluster and dead. He had seen those eyes aflame with anger or fear, but never empty. Instantly he was filled with the need to comfort the youth before him.

Rick shambled to the uninterested Morty and extended a shaking hand. "H-hi, I-uh-I guess we've been assigned to each other."

Morty ignored his hand and stood, "I guess so." He walked out of the room, and Rick let his hand fall limply to his side.

"Give him some time. He'll come around." The Morty assured. Rick scrubbed at the tears that wet his eyes and nodded. He thanked the Citadel Morty and ran after his new charge.

He didn't have to go far. The Morty was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed and dull eyes bearing into the opposite wall. He acknowledged Rick by uncrossing his arms, scrutinizing gaze sweeping over him. He exhaled through his nose.

"Well, what's on the docket, Rick?"

"Oh, uh, I-" Rick stammered, thrown by Morty's question. It wasn't really the question, but the way he asked it. No stutter, no hesitation, and Rick had never heard a Morty use the word 'docket'. "Are you, uh, hungry?" His hopefulness bled into his tone.

Morty stared at him again, a quizzical tilt to his head. His eyes narrowed, one brow slightly cocked. He seemed to examine Rick's posture. The man's slim shoulders were hunched forward, his knees overly bent to give him a small appearance. His hands wrung together, a nervous habit, and the Rick looked uncertainly optimistic.

His was the face of a man who wore his heart on his sleeve again and again for the rare glimpses of love he got through a storm of negativity.

Morty's expression softened almost imperceptibly.

"Sure, Rick."

Rick perked up instantly, joy taking over his features. He grabbed Morty's hand, excitement blinding him to the boy's wince. Morty didn't pull away, however, and allowed himself to be led through a whirling portal.

Instead of the garage, they portaled into Rick's kitchen. Morty looked around. This house was unlike any other he'd lived in. It was similar in structure to the Smith homes from other dimensions, but the interior was completely different. Framed, vintage movie posters decorated the walls, along with maps, a sprawling periodic table, and photographs of famous scientists.

"Bill Nye?" Morty asked, skepticism fading when Rick enthusiastically answered.

"H-his s-science isn't uh-astounding, but I a-admire his passion for teaching children." Rick clammed up suddenly, refusing to meet Morty's eyes.

"What is it?" Morty stepped closer to hear Rick's mumbling.

"...I even have a bow tie like his." He admitted shamefully.

"Oh." Morty said nothing for a moment and then coughed. "I don't know how to tie a bow tie… maybe you could show me sometime."

"Okay!" Rick seized his hand again, and this time Morty didn't wince. Rick dragged him upstairs and into his bedroom. It was sparsely furnished, the bed meticulously made, and in the open closet was an array of colorful clothes.

Rick went to a dresser and opened the top drawer. He held up two bow ties, one eye shut as he compared them to Morty's skin tone. He put one back, the remaining bow tie black and star dotted. "N-normally you wear these with a collared shirt, but that's okay."

He slipped behind Morty, and the boy felt his hackles raise. He didn't trust Rick's behind his back, but this one was different. This Rick was not a cruel and calculating alcoholic. Instead of booze he smelled of fabric softener and soap.

Rick explained each step thoroughly, showing Morty how to tie it before letting him do it himself. Applause and praise rewarded his effort. Morty saw in the mirror on the dresser that his tie was lopsided and crooked, but Rick didn't comment on it.

Morty smiled at the beaming scientist, and thought that maybe this would be his last Rick.

* * *

Morty Smith, original dimension not disclosed and abandoned long ago, was not trusting. His mother, lips painted red to match her shirt, had favored Summer. Beth used to tuck him in, her breath reeking of wine, and tell him bedtime stories about what her life might have been had she not been burdened with an unwanted family. She would cry, mascara bleeding in black streams down her white face. She'd tell him she loved him in a wobbly voice, but Morty knew that was a lie.

In their early childhood, before hormones ruined their innocence, Summer had been his best friend. They spent Saturday mornings eating cereal and watching Bugs Bunny thwart physics. They'd pour over coloring books while Beth cooked dinner, and once that ended Morty couldn't remember a time his family had been happy. Beth resented her husband, and Jerry didn't know the secret to pacifying her wasted life. Beth went to quietly hating him and Jerry hid in his study, leaving Summer to seek affection from boy's at school. Morty learned to make himself invisible, learned to blend into the background to avoid his parents increasingly frequent fights.

When he'd come home beaten and bruised by bullies, no one batted an eye.

Rick coming to their home had been a blessed reprieve. The old man gave him the attention he craved, but all too soon it dissolved into demanding expectation. The abuse was like an arid desert, and he stayed for the flash floods. They were sporadic, never to be expected, but they brought life to the landscape. Tender shoots of grass sprouted along with wild flowers. Inevitably the affection withered away and died, leaving him only with a memory to sustain him until the next rainstorm.

Rick, his first Rick, had loved him. He believed that. Rick just couldn't show love without leaving behind trauma in his wake. The old man drunkenly held him close, cupped his face in wrinkled hands and shoved an alcohol soaked tongue into his mouth. Morty had kissed him back, needy and eager

He knew now that crossing the familial lines into the territory of lovers was not uncommon practice between Rick's and Morties. At the time, he'd been wracked by guilt and self disgust. Rick poorly consoled him and they continued on with life.

Then the family was killed; an old enemy with a grudge. They hadn't loved him anyway, and Morty found he wasn't torn up the way he thought he should be. Rick took them to the Citadel and time marched on.

Rick died. A bullet through his sick, twisted brain. Morty had felt the blood splatter on his face for weeks. The image was burnt into the backs of his eyelids and no one cared. He was handed off to another Rick, one far less caring than his own. That Rick lost him on a mission, and when he got back to the Citadel that Rick had already gotten another Morty. He was reassigned, more jaded than before.

One could only tolerate so much abuse before they became an abuser themselves. He had one advantage, disguised as the ultimate ailment. He was a Morty. No Rick considered Morties capable of plotting or purposely causing hurt. Accidental death was unavoidable, the risk Rick's took by having a human shield. Morties doing something stupid, well, that was in their nature.

So when he returned sans his Rick from a mission, it was chalked up to a careless Rick and he was reassigned. Because Morties weren't murderers, they weren't smart enough to kill a Rick. They didn't willingly cause harm to the innocent.

That, at least, was true. Morty did not target the undeserving.

Like a farmer cutting bundles of wheat with a sickle he slain whoever stood in his way. Their crime? Daring to oppose him. He spilt the blood of not just Rick's, but Morties as well. In their final moments, their hearts running rabbit fast and tears blurring their short sighted vision, they begged for their lives. For their mothers and Rick's. They promised their silence, cooperation. In a last, desperate plea they appealed to his humanity. "We're like the same person," one had managed to say through his tears and muddled thinking. Pathetic.

Morty had smirked slightly, and wondered if he'd become a monster to rival his grandfather. "You're a worm beneath my feet, writhing and worthless. Good for little more than your grandpappy's fuck-toy." And then he pulled the trigger of a long range gun at point blank distance, the motion as mundane as flipping a light switch. The recoil didn't hurt, and the explosion of bloody tissue that covered him felt like raindrops.

To the unrecognizable, gory remains he admitted something no living person would ever hear. "...I don't like myself much."

With a stolen, unmarked portal gun he left the body for the gathering flies. Later, when the Morty's Rick discovered the body, he pretended he was deaf to the rebounding, heartbroken cries. The scientist would get over the loss; they always did.

For a while he joined the fray in Mortytown. The ghetto was overrun with yellow-shirts, defective Morties who refused to be paired with another Rick or didn't meet Citadel requirements for the reassignment program. If he thought Morties were annoying when they were being productive, these delinquents were intolerable.

The solution was obvious to him. If all they were going to do was complain and leech off society, he was going to give them the opportunity to make a difference. Many of the Morties fell for his ploy, believing another Morty wouldn't exploit them.

They were wrong.

They followed him blindly, like the Jews followed Moses into the perilous desert. An automaton Rick as his puppet, he strapped the Morties to his lair and let the torture begin. His plan went off without a hitch, and he hadn't even committed Morty-genocide.

Unrest spread its tangling roots in Citadel soil. He need only wait for the divide to turn grandfather against grandson. He let himself be reassigned, because as loath as he was to acknowledge it, Rick's had their uses. Discarded gadgets that he improved upon, crumpled blueprints that weren't missed. And under the cover of night, mild roofies slipped into Rick's nightcap, he was good for Morty's dark needs of the flesh. In the morning his grandfather's bed bore no evidence of their union and the man assumed it was a dream. Sometimes, a nightmare.

That was why he did it. And the nagging part of his brain that suggested otherwise was quickly shut down. Not in the furthest reaches of his being was he hoping to find another Rick that cared about him. That loved him, as more than a sidekick and more than an easy hookup.

And yet, in a mirthless twist of fate or simply an issue of happenstance, he found just that.

This Rick was unlike any other. He was endlessly kind and patient, and at the end of their first day together Morty vowed he would protect this Rick from the universes taint and rot. He could be strong and cynical for the both of them. Rick's gentleness could not atone for Morty's crimes, nor could an average Morty's good intentions lessen his Rick's aggressions. Good deeds did not cancel out sin. But one day he would rule this decaying Olympus, a pure hearted Rick at his side. They would exterminate the vermin and make the world a better place for those who remained.

Morty Smith, master of deception, was willing to take on his greatest challenge. Hiding the darkness that festered and infected him from a Rick that cared about him. One that would not write off small observations because it was convenient to do so. He learned quickly that this Rick was not as dumb as he perceived himself to be.

Everything was relative, after all.

* * *

Rick's and Morty's went on adventures, it was what they did. It was a statement of the obvious, like saying fish swam. This Rick's adventures were a different breed from what he was used to. Instead of dangerous pursuits of trivial items Rick decided he wanted, they went to Blitz and Chips. Zeta 7 had patented many inventions and money was something he didn't want for. With endless funds, they spent much of their time on earth opposed to gallivanting across dimensions. It was nice, in a big fish in a small pond sort of way.

Rick took him to the zoo, talking about each animal with a zeal that would make tour guides envious. They went to farmers markets and made meals from scratch. It was horribly ironic, that the Rick most suited to domesticality had not procreated.

Once that realization entered his mind, it couldn't be dislodged. Why was it that the most good-natured Rick had not taken a wife? As a father he would be ideal. His Beth would have wanted for nothing. She'd have had bountiful affection and love, she'd never have looked up at the night sky wondering where her father was. If his own Beth had been raised by this Rick she might not have had children or an ill suited husband. She would be happy. She could have been a dean of medicine.

To Morty it seemed an error most heinous.

It was on a sunny Tuesday, weeks into their being assigned to one another, that Morty asked the question that lingered on his mind.

"Why didn't you have kids?" He didn't say that he thought Rick would be a wonderful parent.

Rick was kneading dough for their latest experiment, panettone. He paused, unibrow shooting upwards. He didn't become embarrassed as he might have weeks ago. The man mulled over the question, using his wrist to push a strand of hair out of his face.

"T-the woman most Rick's mary, y-your grandma, was a b-beautiful woman. I-I…" Pain contorted his features, and Morty regretted bringing up the subject. "I j-just never had t-the c-c-courage to talk to her." Tears brimmed in his eyes and he soaked them up with his sleeve, laughing at himself.

Part of Morty wanted to drop the subject, the greater part of him needed answers.

"What about someone else? Love is just a chemical reaction that compels animals to breed, you could have had anyone." Anyone would be lucky to have you got stuck in his throat.

Rick blinked, taken aback. He smiled, a smile no other Rick could smile, and shrugged. "A-after her I-I didn't feel that w-way about anyone. And now I have you." Morty's stomach flipped as he was picked up in a tight embrace. He was gently set back on his feet and a flour coated hand ruffled his hair. "M-my best friend." Rick grinned at him, oblivious to the impure thoughts going through Morty's mind.

Morty knew he was visibly shaken, and he smoothed out his shirt as he collected himself. This Rick was too perfect, too pure. He wanted to strip him of his innocence and preserve it at the same time. He wanted to violate the flawless creature before him, and wanting that sickened him.

"M-morty are you o-okay?" Rick reached to touch him, and Morty slapped his hand away. The hurt that crossed Rick's face was a pin sinking into his heart.

"I'm fine." He snapped.

Rick watched him stalk out of the room, his hand still poised to reach for the youth.

Morty tried to chase his sinful thoughts away by plotting, but they were persistent. The image of Rick disheveled, flushing and squirming, was unshakable. For perhaps the first time he truly hated himself. He did not blame his family or anyone else for his brokenness, because he'd been born broken. It was his undeniable birthright, and different circumstances wouldn't have changed him. He might have refused the impulses better, but he would always be a monster.

Sanchez blood ran thick in his veins, and until his heart stopped pumping it he would always be an abomination.

It was this Rick that made him struggle to keep his control. He'd worked too long and too hard to give it all up for a Rick. Because deep down he knew J-19 wouldn't approve of what he'd done. He was too loving to condone violence.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts and Rick poked his head into the room.

"Y-you doing okay, M-morty?"

Morty Smith, master of deception, always got what he wanted.

"I-I'm f-fine, Rick." He forced himself to stutter and sniffed, turning away from Rick's concerned gaze. He hugged his knees to his chest and on command tears welled in his eyes. They caught in his lashes and he let them fall, his shoulders trembling as silent sobs jostled his body.

Rick, sweet and gullible, took the bait. A frantic sound wormed out of his mouth and the mattress dipped under Rick's weight. Wiry arms encapsulated him, shielding him. The bitter tears stung and Morty slumped against Rick's slender frame. Rick didn't hesitate to pull him onto his lap, holding the boy tightly.

Memories of past hurt bombarded Morty. Loveless fucking, murder committed in cold blood, the vision of his Rick's head exploding. He began crying in earnest. His entire body quaked and snot dribbled down his chin. He buried his face in Rick's sweater, the fabric clutched in his hands. He cried for all the times he hadn't allowed himself to.

Rick held him, rubbing a soothing hand along his back.

"Please don't hate me." Morty choked out.

"I-I c-could never hate you M-Morty." Rick's voice was full of sincerity, but Morty knew better.

People who said they loved him just didn't know the real him. They would be terrified of him if they did.

J-19 was no different. When he saw who Morty really was, he'd run.

"I love you, Rick." The laser pen in his pocket was heavy and warm against his skin.

"I-I love you, too!" Rick said brightly. Morty's hands fell numbly to his lap. He couldn't do it.

This Rick had stolen his heart and he couldn't kill him. He was going to do what Sanchez's did. He was going to string Rick along, lie until he was confronted with the truth, and then he was going to lie again. He was going to take all the love Rick had to offer, to use him until there was nothing left.

And the part that hurt the most? He knew that if Rick was attuned to his intentions, he'd still give Morty all the love he had. He'd give until it hurt.

Morty rested his head on Rick's shoulder. He could protect him from everything but himself.

Morty Smith suddenly understood his grandfather, and he sympathized. Because it would take infinite willpower to renounce the one thing that lessened the pain of existence.

One day J-19 would hate him, but he'd still love him. It would be merciful to end his future suffering now.

But Morty was selfish.


End file.
